A Study In Pink
by SweetDeamon
Summary: "He isn't entirely sure how it is that a certain pink haired witch came to be lying snugly in the bed beside him yet again, or indeed why such a thing had ever occurred the first time around..." RLNT.


**A Study In Pink**

Midnight at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place; Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, bad-tempered stomping grounds of one Sirius Black, occasional home of the Weasley clan and current lodgings of a certain werewolf who at this precise moment in time wishes to remain anonymous...

Because it has happened again.

He isn't entirely sure how it is that a certain pink haired witch came to be lying snugly in the bed beside him yet again, or indeed why such a thing had ever occurred the first time around. He simply knows, just as he had done the night beforehand and those nights the previous week, that this is a situation that he should under no circumstances ever come to find himself in ever again.

He also knows, much to his shame, that how inappropriate and wrong it all is doesn't really matter.

Because it will happen again.

Repeatedly.

He screws his eyes shut and swallows the groan of resignation that rises in his throat.

She didn't even say anything when she slipped into the room some hour earlier and climbed with uncharacteristic care under the blankets beside him. That was how dire the whole thing had become, they were both so used to it that they didn't even have to speak.

They had a routine.

Sweet Merlin...he doesn't like the sound of that! Routines were something that married couples had.

Not...people like them. He doesn't really know what people like them are called, but strongly suspects that this is a good thing because whatever the name is it would probably scare him.

They aren't lovers.

He knows this for certain. There are a number of reasons why he is so sure; firstly there is the fact that this is what Sirius likes to label them as, which automatically means that they must be something else entirely.

Sirius has to be wrong, he can't be right about something like this. He makes too many dirty jokes, laughs loudly each time they appear at the breakfast table together, he doesn't take the situation at all seriously enough to have a worthwhile opinion.

Secondly, if they were lovers, he wouldn't feel so furious every morning when Sirius smirks at him and asks how many times he's shagged her the night beforehand.

Because if they were lovers he would be able to answer the question with an answer other than: _it's not bloody like that! _

It's true. It's not bloody like that. They've never had sex. Not even once. They just sort of...lie there...

Not that he hasn't thought about having sex with her...

He was thinking about it, just now. That's what brought on the exasperation at the whole situation because it occurred to him that he's been thinking about it more and more often as the days go on.

It's deeply worrying to him that one night he might spend the whole time thinking about it and Merlin knows that would be foolish. Wrong.

And what about after that? What if it went beyond thinking and...

_Stop._

_It's not bloody like that. _

What is it like then?

It's...nice. Comfortable. Comforting. A guilty pleasure.

He opens his eyes and turns carefully so that he can study her sleeping form beside him, something that he does most nights when he feels much too guilty to go to sleep himself and yet much too pleased with himself to wake her up and tell her to leave. She is wonderfully more close than she probably ought be, warm back pressed against his chest and head upon his pillow, her own half of the bed left cool and unoccupied. If he leans forward a little her short, mussy hair tickles his chin and makes him shiver. Despite the darkness, he can't help but think that her hair is brighter at night, the most vivid shade of pink...

Pink is fast becoming his most favorite colour, and admitting this to himself makes his cheeks flush a darker, distinctly more embarrassed shade than her bubblegum hair. It's a bit much, he thinks with a frown at the side of her head, when a man manages to make himself blush.

He is distracted from his frowning for a second as she lets out a soft sigh in her sleep, shifting against him until she is upon her back, and he finds himself gazing down at her face. She always looks so calm and serene when she is sleeping, and it makes him smile because it is the most beautiful of masks. Come the morning, when the sunlight manages to squeeze its way through the gap in the moth eaten curtains, those pale lids will flutter open to reveal dark, twinkling eyes that shine with such a zest for life that it is surely infectious. There is always a cheery curve to her lips, save for those increasingly frequent moments when she chooses to be engaged in relentless teasing, at which time she catches her bottom lip between her teeth in a vain attempt not to snigger...

She was biting her lip now, just a little...

If he were to lean forward, down just a little bit, he could kiss her...

_Kiss her! _

_Don't kiss her! For Merlin's sake, don't bloody kiss her, don't move a bloody muscle!_

He can feel her breath upon his cheek, a soft, steady warmth upon his skin that seems to dull his sensibilities somewhat...

...if he's been in possession of sensibilities at all this evening, that is. It seems unlikely that he ever was, judging by his current predicament...

Despite his own warnings, he leans forward just a little, just a tiny bit...just enough. She smells like strawberries, probably from that bottle of shampoo that somebody had left in the bathroom across the landing. He is sure that fruit shouldn't be so intoxicating without alcohol, but apparently he is wrong because he leans forward, just a little more...

There is a small birthmark just above her left eyebrow and he is just beginning to muse how surprising it is that he has never noticed it there until now when she frowns, a slight yet perfectly horrifying movement that makes him jerk backwards for fear that he has disturbed her, and she shifts her leg a little, a toe scuffing his knee that makes him flinch a little.

It is best, he decides, to avoid staring for a time and he closes his eyes and silently commands himself to go to sleep.

And then, though he does not recall instructing it to do so, his arm reaches to rest across her stomach, a natural, comfortable place it seemingly decides, but no sooner has it done so his brain finally catches up with him.

Oh...

That wasn't supposed to have happened. It shouldn't, couldn't happen, it was...

Long, slim fingers reach to brush against his hand searchingly and he draws in a panicked breath and holds it.

Well, he thinks to himself, heart quickening in his chest as the fingers slowly entangle with his own, this is...

Nice.

Wrong.

But very nice.

It's nice to hold her, to properly hold her. Not like those brief hugs hello or goodbye they sometimes have that only last a brief moment. This is how it should be, lying for hours, just holding her...

Except it shouldn't be like this. Not at all.

That was probably why it felt so nice. Life had a tendency to be cruel like that.

He's glad that she has hold of his hand so that he can't move it, can't let it wander across the thin cotton of the vest top she is wearing in search of those subtle movements of muscles and contours that identify themselves as exclusively hers.

Because of course that would be deeply, deeply wrong, if he were to gain knowledge like that. His imagination would have to make do, on that front. He is pretty sure that it will do a startlingly good job...

But he won't go off into his imagination because there is always a chance, probably a big one, that he'll stray into territory that must be left well alone.

What wonderfully addictive and glorious a torture this is. If he isn't careful he might lose all sense like he did the previous week and admit to himself that somewhere along the line he might possibly have done the stupid thing and fallen in love with her.

He'd held out until 2am that morning before he'd reached that stunning and awful conclusion.

It's barely quarter past midnight tonight and he knows as he opens his eyes again to peer down at her through the darkness that he won't last that long.

Hell, he's going to admit it. Right now.

He's in love with her. Absolutely head over heels in love with her. There's no doubt about it, none whatsoever and it's a thrillingly dizzying and overwhelming feeling that makes him want to smile, scream, laugh and cry all at once.

He's going to just have to face it. He's eternally damned.

_Kiss her, then. _

_Don't kiss her. Seriously, don't. _

He leans forward again...

_Don't even think about it. Don't even dare to let such a thought enter your..._

What's the harm in a little more eternal damnation? Surely he was sufficiently doomed that it wouldn't make much of a difference.

_Except it would. It really, really would. Stop bloody moving, for Merlin's sake! _

_Just half an inch more and that would do it..._

He freezes, staring intently down at her lips as the mental battle continues to be waged in his head, heart hammering like some sort of fierce war drum...

_Do it, do it!_

_Don't do it, for the love of Merlin don't do it! Jump out of bed and run for the door if it helps, just don't..._

If he did do it, if he did kiss her...would she wake up?

If she did wake up, would she kiss him back?

Sweet Merlin...the thought of that...

He could be just half a second away from finding out, if only he would...

_Stop it. It's not right..._

None of this had ever been right, either. Except it just was. So...what if this _just was_, too...

_Kiss her...don't kiss her...kiss her...don't kiss her..._

One eyelid slowly opens and his heart stops dead to find one dark eye gazing up at him through the darkness. Were he not stunned by this sudden development he might have jerked backwards from her again...

A thin eyebrow slowly creeps upwards into a inquiring arch and he forgets to breathe as he watches her draw breath, wetting her lips ever so slightly before she whispers:

"Well? Are you going to kiss me or not?"

It had seemed like such a good question inside his own head, he muses vaguely as he blinks at her in surprise. But coming from her lips, which are, as it happens, getting steadily closer to his own, it just seems a bit stupid.

Because he knows the answer just as well as she does.

**The End. **


End file.
